We are only numbers & letters
by timtom
Summary: How about some "Quartermaster" 7 and Agent 00Q? Inspired by an edit graphic. Rated T because k-i-s-s-i-n-g


a/n: AU canon in which James Bond is head of 'Branch 7' alternate from Q branch and 00Q is an agent of the double-oh sector. I let James have the tech geniality because it just made sense for them to keep the same jobs, but I tried to mould their personalities into the job specifications. So it's just James Bond with a few more assets and Q with a different skill set. Enjoy!

Written because of this great graphic by Spielende:  
post/36071462012

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It always came as a shock – whether the person in question was new to their relationship or to MI6 itself. Agent 00Q and 7 – one was a scrawny looking dark haired clear eyed boy-man, and the other a well-built semi-blonde crisp eyed head of Branch 7; both having happily invested in each other for more than 14 months.

00Q was reserved and measured (and just the tiniest bit arrogant when he's with 7), and despite his appearance, was quite capable of defending himself – he used wit and smarts more than any physical advantage over his opponents, and his interrogation skills was the stuff of legends. He was highly regarded in the double-oh sector, having the most clean kills, and he worked under M's watchful eye with the support that none of the other double-oh ever got when they were out in the field.

7, on the other hand was charming and efficient, and he was one of six people in the world who could do what he does with computers. But everyone in the Q branch had at least an inkling of his conspicuous string of female lovers from his past, and 00Q often caught some young minions within Q branch gazing on 7 with wonder – and on the agent himself with jealousy and impressed awe.

7 had revealed to him two months ago on their one year anniversary that his real name was actually James Bond, and seeing as how they served in the service of liars and danger, it was the pinnacle of trust between them two. 00Q could only offer _Quartermaster_ in return – as a less fortunate orphan, that name was all he had. Perhaps it was his last name; he'll never know. _James Bond _and _Q_ – these were names only for each other; during work it was all professional titles, and if a name was slipped now and again during a tense moment on a mission, it was never a problem brought up in their conversations.

It wasn't that he chose to ignore Bond's history of only female partners or wasn't aware, but it was the fact that Bond had decided to settle down with him of all people that really meant something. Q was the first man Bond had been with, and whilst he had needed a month to accept his own sexuality, eventually he came to the conclusion that he couldn't live without Q, and that was all that mattered. Despite Bond's initial distress, Q had never been with _anyone_; the need to decide never came up, he supposed. But with Bond, it felt _right_.

"00Q, do try to return this piece of equipment intact, otherwise you will be landing in your next mission armed with nothing but a hairdryer," Bond's eyebrow quirks as he smirks out the end of the sentence. "and dressed in nothing but your pyjamas."

Q smiles and props a hand on the desk to lean into it, relaxing his stance. They were inside Bond's office, and Q's plane won't leave for another twenty minutes. "Bond, when have I ever returned anything in less than spectacular fashion?"

"If you mean covered in komodo dragon excrements, then yes – _spectacular."_ Bond says drily as he sits down at his desk. "If you mean fashion like that hideous tie you're wearing then yes –_fashion_."

"What's wrong with my tie?" Q asks, and he's evidently taken Bond's words to heart as he pulls it out from inside his dinner jacket, fiddling with a loose thread in the end. Bond chuckles fondly and sighs, readjusting his glasses and watching Q pull at the thread and frowning, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. Bond smiles slowly and gets out of his seat to round the table and takes Q's spindly fingers in his, gently taking the tie from his grip.

"There's nothing wrong, Quartermaster." Bond whispers, and then raises the tie to his lips and kisses it. Seeing the blush bloom from under the collar of Q's dress shirt, he smiles as he takes one of Q's hands in his and kisses the knuckles there, slightly bruised and scratched from his last mission, and then he goes to kiss Q's other hand, but Q instead guides his face up and he presses their lips together.

To Q, Bond tastes like Earl Grey, and there is a hint of chocolate twined with nuts and berries from the box that Bond keeps in his desk; Q brings Bond knick-knacks and delicacies from every mission in a country other than England – and sometimes buys him chocolates just on a whim. To Bond, Q tastes like blood and whiskey, and there is a tinge of gun powder that he can't explain. As awkward and child-like Q was around him and the rest of MI6 – he was a brilliant spy. He didn't so much as have the abilities of a spy as he did the abilities to enter the character of a spy. He was a perfect actor – once he got into the mindset of 00Q, he was no longer bumbling, no longer self-conscious or out of place. He was 00Q; incredibly capable, mysteriously captivating, lethal and deadly. He was the ideal spy. One taste both men shared and equally craved was something indescribable, something so inertly founded in each other that they just couldn't get enough of.

As Bond breaks away Q chases him out of instinct – he never once wanted to leave; leave a kiss, leave Bond to go on a mission, leave MI6, his home. Bond removes his glasses and chuckles, peppering soft kisses down Q's jaw, working the top button of Q's dress shirt open and loosening his _hideous_ tie, letting his tongue dart out at intervals to lick and suck and _tease_.

"No marks, Bond." Q sighs contentedly as Bond's hand wraps around his nape and threads into his dovetail curls, gently tugging so his head would fall back and grant him more access to the pale expanse of Q's neck. Bond hums a muffled response as he moves on from the one patch of skin he had been biting and kissing, right underneath Q's jaw – any bruises Q bore he would have to wear as whatever persona he has to adopt in his next mission. It would make it hard to seduce a mark if the mark sees Q as someone who already had a lover.

"Mm, I'm gonna miss you." Bond murmurs, his breath hot against Q's collarbone, his chin nudging Q's dress shirt collar out of the way. Q's thin fingers rub against his short cut, his other arm wrapping around Bond's shoulder, the knitted navy cardigan just coarse enough under his fingers to rub the pad of his thumb over the one spot in search of the feeling.

"I'm going to miss you too." He whispers into Bond's hair and Bond straightens a little to wrap his arms around the agent's lithe frame, their forms slotting together automatically. In their profession, with each mission there's a little less to salvage, until one day you've no soul left to save. The emptiness inside could only be filled with each other somehow, between the sheets, in the limbo between midnight and the first ray of a new day, when there's no armour and they're at their most vulnerable; no titles – simply James Bond and his Quartermaster.

"You should go, you'll miss your flight." Bond finally says, putting on his glasses, nudging Q gently with his elbow as he backs away a little, and as Q nods in agreement and turns to leave, a sudden jerk on his tie pulls him back into Bond's arms, who nips his bottom lip slightly, playfully, before adding – "don't break the gun." Q smiles back and kisses Bond again, but remembers to draw back before he is too delayed.

"Stay safe." Bond says with a wan smile.

"You too." Q replies.

And that'll do for now.


End file.
